


A Change of Pace

by Pastel_Teacups



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Arson, F/M, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-05-27 03:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15015764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastel_Teacups/pseuds/Pastel_Teacups
Summary: Wade was never diagnosed with cancer and never became Deadpool, but leaves the mercenary business when it costs the ultimate price. His career change? As far opposite on the job scale as you can think: baking.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is mostly expositional so Nathan's not in it, but he should introduce himself in the next one!

Wade had never been - normal. 

He couldn’t focus in school, he was discharged from Special Forces just as quickly as they’d let him in, and even the other criminals that hung around Sister Margaret’s seemed a little off-put by his particular antics. 

Or maybe it was the katanas. Whatever. 

Anyways, none of that mattered. Because even wallowing in all the shit and “weird coincidences” (read: murders) on his record, he found Vanessa. 

Vanessa blurred out the static in his mind. When she kissed him, it was like finding a silver dollar in the world’s dirtiest drain, and then using that silver dollar to buy one last chocolate bar. And then opening that chocolate bar, completely unsuspecting, and finding the _last and final_ golden ticket! A regular Charlie Bucket-level of triumph, but every day. 

He loved her. This was how love felt. It hurts at first, until you relax and lean into it. Kinda like anal. Yeah. 

Point was, Wade Wilson had gotten pretty lucky. He’d struck fucking _gold_. Until, naturally, it had to come crashing down. 

\----

It was raining. _Raining_. Which really put a damper on Wade’s plan, which had been to watch the parking garage from the roof next door until the target walked to his car and gave Wade an opportunity to strike. So, that was out. Instead he was lurking near the elevators and waiting around for the guy, looking like a total creep and blowing his cover to absolute hell. 

Not to mention the time limit. He had to get back by seven if he wanted to get anniversary sex with Vanessa. Maybe she’d use the strapon. Or maybe they’d get _really_ crazy-

Fuck, that was him. With security. Wade tugged out a gun and shot the two security guards in the back, got into a small scuffle with the actual target before taking a pretty tough hit from a secret _third_ security guard who had - taken the stairs? What, was he watching his weight? Anyways, they both got in the car and zoomed away while Wade was down, leaving him to swear loudly and flip off the back bumper of the car. Whatever. At least he got a plate number, not that it’d do much good.

\----

Dopiner got him home fast enough - still late, though, and when he opened the door Vanessa was waiting with a frown on her face. Not the _biggest_ frown. But a frown. 

“Sorry I’m late.” He started, peeling off his soaking coat to drop it on the floor. “There was an old lady trying to cross the street-” 

“No.” 

Wade pondered another answer before speaking, setting his guns and knives on the kitchen counter. “There was a boy scout who needed my help getting _one last badge_ -” 

“No.” 

He pouted. “Getting a kitten down from a tree? Hm?” 

That made her smile. “You look like shit.” 

“That is _not_ very inviting anniversary talk,” he chastised, but he _was_ sporting a pretty nasty black eye. “If you’re trying to get into my panties, this isn’t the way to do it.” 

She stood up from the couch and walked toward him until they met in the middle of the living room, her hands coming up to run over his short cropped hair. “No? You sure?” 

She leaned up and kissed him. The tension in his shoulders melted away and he smiled against her lips, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Maybe I can be convinced. Only if you’re nice.” 

“Good,” She said, smoothing a hand down the side of his face. “Now, you want your present?” 

Wade leaned into the touch and grinned, withdrawing a hand to dig in his own pocket to withdraw the box he’d wrapped for her and trade it for his own gift. 

“An - arcade token?” She asked, looking between it and Wade’s bright face. 

“Skee-ball,” he corrected, watching her turn it over her fingers. 

“Our first date,” she realized, pressing her lips to the coin. “I’ll keep it forever.” 

Wade grinned brightly and leaned over to kiss her, working on the bow of his own gift as he opened it and peered down. “It’s - I don’t know what this is.” 

“It’s my UTI.” 

“A bomb?” He asked, eyebrows shooting up. 

Vanessa scoffed. “No, dick for brains, it’s my birth control device.” 

Wade’s eyes widened and he tossed the box over his shoulder, enveloping her in a tight, tight hug. 

“-And I want our kid to have only one name,” he continued when he pulled away, though he wasn’t sure what he’d been saying before that. “Like Cher, or Todd.” 

They kiss. Wade wouldn’t ever get over that feeling, the way his heart lifted up in his chest. It almost hurt when she pulled away and looked up at him. 

But then she said, “You gotta pump a baby in me first, cowboy,” and he felt a little better. 

\----

_Wade was dreaming. It was a good dream, too. No bad guys, no tragic past, just Vanessa and him, naked, on a bed made of toaster strudels. It wasn’t sticky, though, not like it would be in real life. It was perfect. He was pretty sure George Michael was playing in the background, too._

_But then it got dark._

_Fuck, couldn’t Wade have_ one _good night?!_

 _Not only was it getting dark, it was getting_ hot _. The toaster strudels burned to a crisp and George Michael’s sweet vocal’s melted away, then even Vanessa started to melt away in his arms, and then_ Wade _started to melt away, when-_

Wade was on fire. 

It took him a minute to register that he was _on fucking fire_ after he woke up, that his whole apartment was on fire, the pain biting away at every inch of his skin until he couldn’t feel anything else, couldn’t think, couldn’t worry about anything except the pain and Vanessa. 

He reached out to grip for her but stopped halfway and withdrew his hand, partially because he didn’t want to set her on fire if she wasn’t already _on_ fire, but also because he desperately didn’t want to reach over there and find nothing but a pile of ash. 

He tried to move, but he couldn’t. He could only scream and thrash around, uselessly, trying to put himself out.

By the time his vision started to darken he could swear he felt arms lifting him up and out, but he figured it must’ve been his soul exiting his body and moving toward the white light that must connect to a very brightly-lit path leading directly to hell. 

The last thing he thought of was Vanessa, of how whatever had happened to her was his fault. He did this, somehow. 

Fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I can’t do it.” He repeated, gesturing to himself. “I don’t know if you know anything about burn recovery, but I’m still a little tender from my full-body coal walk. And - it’s too dangerous. I can’t - someone else would just get hurt.”_
> 
> _Weasel fixed him with a skeptical look. “Okay. Well - what are you gonna do, then, huh? Stripping?”_
> 
> _“I don’t know. There probably is a niche market for it.” He considered, taking another drink. “Something - as far away from this as I can get. I could open up a bakery.”_
> 
> _Weasel laughed, before meeting Wade’s eyes. “Oh, god. You’re serious.”_

It’d been three weeks since the fire. Wade had spent that time in a burn ward, recovering, and when he shuffled into Sister Margaret’s the night after his released a hush fell over the entire bar like Weasel was announcing the results of the Dead Pool. 

Great. 

“Did you have to tell _everyone_?” He mumbled as he sat himself down at the bar, hood up to shroud most of his now-horrifying face. 

Weasel shrugged, looking not at all sorry. “You’re the one who made me your emergency contact. Everyone wanted to know, for the Dead Pool.” 

Wade fought off the urge to bare his teeth or something equally childish as he reached over the bar to snatch a bottle of whiskey and drop a twenty on the bar before Weasel could complain. “How very kind of everyone to be so concerned about my wellbeing.” He said bitterly, taking a long drink from the bottle. “And Vanessa was my emergency contact. Your number was only there in case something happened to-”

He broke off, and Weasel had the decency to look a little sympathetic. “I’m sorry about Vanessa.” He told him, shrugging softly. “And your face. It’s - really, _really_ unfortunate.” 

“I get it.” Wade said, tugging off his hood to reveal his less-than-savory new appearance. Some facelift. He shouldn’t have gone for the injections. 

This must be what rock bottom felt like, Wade thought to himself. First you’re flying high, thinking you won Willy Wonka’s fucked-up factory tour because all the other kids are dead, and then he kicks you out for stealing just a sip of fizzy lifting drink for you and your gramps. 

And to top it all off? You’re _poor._ Or ugly, in Wade’s case. Fuck. 

“Jesus,” Weasel murmured, leaving Wade to spread his fingers in a what-can-you-do sort of gesture. “Is it all over?” 

“Everywhere.” He confirmed, showing off the the angry red scars spanning across his hand and disappearing under his sleeve. “If his intention wasn’t to kill me, it was to make me look as much like Frankenstein’s monster as possible. Maybe he was jealous, of my good looks.” 

He was joking, but his voice was hollow, his face still set in a frown. Weasel grimaced, then glanced around a little before leaning in and speaking lowly. “Look, if you’re interested, I got a tip on where the fucker is-” 

“No,” Wade said, leaning back in his seat and shaking his head. “That’s sweet ‘n all, but I can’t do that.” He told him, taking a long swig of whiskey.

“What?” Weasel asked, watching Wade swipe a hand over his scarred face. 

“I can’t do it.” He repeated, gesturing to himself. “I don’t know if you know anything about burn recovery, but I’m still a little tender from my full-body coal walk. And - it’s too dangerous. I can’t - someone else would just get hurt.” 

Weasel fixed him with a skeptical look. “Okay. Well - what are you gonna do, then, huh? Stripping?”

“I don’t know. There probably is a niche market for it.” He considered, taking another drink. “Something - as far away from this as I can get. I could open up a bakery.” 

Weasel laughed, before meeting Wade’s eyes. “Oh, god. You’re serious.” 

\----

It wasn’t even that hard. It should totally be harder to just _start_ a business. 

Wade already had some money lying around, so after a few Youtube tutorials on how to make bread and danishes and things other than cupcakes, he was ready to go. Was it the most _impressive_ baskery in New York? No, of course not! But he offered coffee and a wi-fi connection, so he got decent business. Besides, it didn’t matter. As long as he made enough money to keep the place running, he was fine. 

He’d been open for a few weeks now. Those who weren’t completely scared off by his face thought his scones were just _delightful_ , and were none the wiser that he used to kill people professionally just a few months ago. They _did_ fix him with enough sympathetic looks to last him his whole life and everyone else’s, but he guessed it came with the territory of looking like a one-off mistake of God. 

It was okay. He felt better, less icky inside. Vanessa dying was on him, but at least this way he wouldn’t be responsible for anything else. _Too little, too late, Wade!_ was something he thought to himself on the daily, but he couldn’t change the past. And sure, it was a little less exciting than what he was used to, but he didn’t totally mind. He just focused all that excess energy into new and innovative cupcake decorating. People loved it. 

It was Tuesday morning, after the little rush of regulars Wade had managed to accumulate, when he heard the bell over the door chime. 

“Hey, just give me one second,” Wade called from where he was wiping down the counters, putting away the rag he’d been using and stepping up to the register to face the man who’d stepped in. 

Uh, wow. 

He had a deep frown on his face, like he was perpetually sucking on a lemon, and - no fucking was, was one of his eyes _glowing_? Wade was so enraptured by that detail, wondering if it was glass or if he was maybe a mutant, that he didn’t even notice the terrible fanny pack slung over the stranger’s shoulder. 

“Uh,” Wade said, pulling himself together. “Sorry about that. What can I get you, silver fox?” 

Fuck. Did that really just come out of his mouth? Should he have said that out loud to this man, who looked like he freshly murdered two kittens before walking in? 

He waited for Silver Fox to walk out or worse, jump over the counter and stab him, but after a moment he cracked a small smile and started to ask about Wade’s muffin selection. 

Huh. Okay. Weird.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murderous! Over a _fanny pack!_ This guy really was the business. Too cool for school.

“So you’re telling me-” 

“A _fanny pack,_ Weasel.” 

“You’re telling me this guy had a fanny pack over his shoulder like he’s about to go on some bullshit retreat in the woods for a week,” Weasel clarified, eyeing Wade suspiciously from over the bar. “And you still think he was hot?” 

“I was just as surprised as you are.” Wade nodded, leaning back in his seat. “I mean, there were other things, like the glowing eye-” 

“ _Glowing eye?_ ” 

“-but the fanny pack should really cancel all that out. Right?” 

“No. Go back. He had a _glowing eye_?”

Wade looked over at Weasel, huffing out an annoyed little sigh. “Yes. God. Are you even listening?” 

“I’m listening, you freak. Listening to you _fully_ skate over the fact that this dude had a robo-eye. Who gives a shit about his fanny pack?” 

“What am I supposed to do?” Wade interrupted, too caught up in his own thoughts to pay attention to what Weasel was saying. “‘Ness just died six months ago. I can’t just run off and try to seduce an older gentleman with a fanny pack and an eye that glows in the dark.” 

Weasel finally looked at him with earnest eyes. “Wade, you just said it. It’s been six months, she wouldn’t want you to sit here and bitch forever.” He shrugged, wiping down the bartop before giving a small shrug. “But I know you’re not gonna listen to me. Do whatever the fuck you want.” 

\----

Wade figured that he could move on by the next day. Lots of people came into his bakery once and never returned, either because the croissants weren’t up to snuff or his face put them off eating entirely, and he figured that would be the case with good old Silver Fox Fanny Pack too. But, the world had a convenient way of tossing Wade a curve ball every once in a while. 

Because after the morning rush, same time as yesterday, Silver Fox Fanny Pack himself stepped in. 

He looked - out of place in civilization, Wade thought as he watched him approach the counter. He gave off the kind of vibe that belonged on a battlefield, not a rapidly gentrifying city filled with bearded bloggers and aspiring yoga teacher models. He looked about as out of place as Wade felt. 

“You’re back,” Wade said after taking a moment to appreciate the whole gruff look of him. He took a little more notice of the fanny pack this time - geez, who needed that many pockets? - though it didn’t affect his overall look nearly as much as it should have. 

Wade hypothesized internally that this man had definitely killed people. You don’t just _make_ a fanny pack look cool without a body count. 

“Same as yesterday, or do you wanna switch it up?” He leaned over the pastry case easily, watching as Fanny Pack looked over it at him and gave a smirk that _might’ve_ made Wade’s panties a little wet. 

His eyes swept over the pastry case and took in the variety, raising an eyebrow and pointing a gloved finger at the case. 

Gloves. So cool. 

“You make this?” 

The _this_ he was referring to was the neat row of frosted cupcakes that he’d decorated to look like little zombies. Wade nodded, pretending to be humble like it hadn’t at all taken him weeks to master the intricate frosting brains. “Yours truly. Modeled after my very own face, as a matter of fact. I just stood in front of a mirror while I did the decorating.” 

Usually that sort of conversation made people uncomfortable. Wade wouldn’t even edge _near_ calling himself confident in his new and mottled skin, but he knew what he looked like and he knew there was no changing it. Might as well cash in on some prime comedy real estate, even if no one found it funny except him. He waited for Mr. Handsome But Deadly to frown, or give any indication of distaste, but instead when he looked up from the case and back up at the older man, he was smirking. 

_Smirking._ Like Wade had just coyly mentioned he was wearing lace panties, or maybe that he wasn’t wearing panties at all. Like he’d just said something clever enough to rival Tony Stark’s shitty cocktail party wit. 

What kind of twisted fuck thought Wade was funny?! 

“My daughter would’ve liked them,” he replied, his smirk changing to something a little more melancholy. Wade wanted to be intrusive and ask where the daughter was, why it was a _would’ve_ and not a _would_ , but before he could the man was reaching into his fanny pack and withdrawing a few bills.

“I’ll take a cupcake. And a coffee, black.” 

He slid the cash across the counter and Wade slid his change back, picking up a paper coffee cup. “If you’re gonna keep coming around for my _gourmet creations,_ ” he filled the coffee cup, set it on the counter, then levelled the fanny pack-clad man with a mild look. “I should get your name. I can’t keep calling you Fanny Pack in my head, one day it’ll slip out.” 

“It’s a utility bag.” He corrected, looking truly murderous for the first time. It sent a little thrill down Wade’s spine. 

Murderous! Over a _fanny pack!_ This guy really was the business. Too cool for school. 

It passed quickly, and by the time Wade finished boxing up his best-looking zombie cupcake Fanny Pack was back to his normal, less-than cheerful self. 

“It’s Nathan.” He said finally, accepting the box and giving Wade another small, entirely charming smirk. “But _Silver Fox_ had a nice ring to it.” 

With that he walked out, leaving Wade to watch him and definitely _not_ stare at his ass. 

He was so, totally fucked.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments + Kudos are always greatly appreciated!


End file.
